Comatose
by aschenblume
Summary: A short adventure between Sherlock and John. Rated T just in case. R&R
1. of a Man on a Mission

**A/N: Been gone for a while, first bit of writing that I've done for for ages.  
>I fear I've gotten a little rusty...<br>Short chapter, but will upload the next few soon. Uploading makes it feel like the words are set and unchangeable.  
>R+R<strong>

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><p>Brisk steps carried Dr. Watson over wet London pavements, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched against the wind. Every few seconds he was throwing glances left right and centre for anything suspicious; any sign of someone watching or following.<p>

Taking out his phone, his eyes flickered again over the same text he had read countless times trying to understand the how and why of this situation, especially after Sherlock had been missing for almost four days now. The message from him had arrived not moments after the hospital had phoned, and John had realised with a grumble it had – once again – been deliberately machinated by Holmes so that his surprise would be genuine.

All the same, warning or no warning, he was still going to kick Sherlock's arse for this one.

Following instructions, Watson had resisted hailing a cab and had instead walked 9 minutes of the 12 minute journey, with a small and inconspicuous satchel that matched his trench coat full of the things he had further been instructed to bring.

Ducking right, left, then right again through thin alleys he found a small, scruffy looking child, who offered a hand out and said with impeccable enunciation, "Evening, Dr. Watson. I will take what is required now."

The exchange was quick, and John reached the hospital with only one old pair of eyes glancing at him more than once.


	2. of Flatmates

Wanting to rush the Nurse, but not wanting to seem impatient or rude, he followed her down another turn in the hospital corridors.

"Here he is," she gestured toward a door at the end of another corridor. "Bed 17. He's in the room with three other patients currently in the same state he is. We induced the comatose state for two of the patients, however Mr Holmes' condition was not our decision. The car crash was pretty severe, he's lucky to have survived." John tried to keep a straight face at the information, and decided to stare down a small crack in the tiles on the floor. She tutted after a moment of silence, and put a hand on his shoulder; he fought a flinch. "I'm sorry, he's been here for a few days, I thought you might've already seen him.."

John looked up with a slightly forced smile. "It's okay, you weren't to know."

"Uh, what's your relation to him, if you don't mind me asking?" she tilted her head curiously.

"He's my-" for a moment John tried to imagine Sherlock referring to him as a 'friend'. In the scenario his head conjured up, the only words used were 'associate', 'work partner', or 'acquaintance'... "..flatmate."

"Oh!" Her eyes went wide and she patted his hand affectionately, "Knew you were too polite and too cute to be straight. Always the case eh? Good ones are taken, disabled, or gay..." She wistfully wandered off down the way they came from before he had the chance to stutter a correction. Slightly ticked off, his hand went to the dog tags under his top and gripped them subconsciously as he stepped through the door.


	3. of Accidental Headbutting

John saw Sherlock's pale face and bit the tip of his tongue.

"Y'know, for a genius you can be an idiot sometimes," he sighed, picking up some information on his medicine and checking the drip he was plugged into.

He looked at his somewhat gaunt face and thin shut lids, the small bruises and dried up cuts on his high cheekbones, shaking his head.

Watson sat back in a small chair next to the plastic-covered bed, rubbed his face and got comfy as he could on hospital budget.

Cracking open his eyes, John could see a faint light coming in through the main doors, and looked at his watch to see it was gone 9pm. He groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

"Your bloody fault, Sherlock, what the hell am I supposed to do now? My neck hurts too.. God, so sleepy."

"Here, would you like a coffee?"  
>"Yes ple-" wide-eyed, John lifted his head from his hands to be inches from the nose of a very conscious and alive-looking Sherlock Holmes.<p>

John's first reaction was that of trained instinct, and he flexed his muscles in his back and neck and promptly headbutted his colleague in the face.

The effect was instantaneous, and John didn't get to enjoy the slight surprised look on Sherlock's face as he heavily dropped onto the bed.

The conflict of emotions produced just one expletive. Happiness: Sherlock is alive, and not in a coma. Anger: Sherlock is a selfish git, deserves to be in a coma. Despair: not four seconds after discovering Sherlock was conscious, John had managed to knock him flat out and possibly give him brain damage.

"..Ah, shit."

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the delayed update on these two chapters, was trying to get a job...**

**Anywho. Comments are love. (Minus the impossible claims I stole a story title from an account made about ten minutes before the claim was posted. Smooth.)**


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